An Inner Song
by aylaa
Summary: What if the orphans had not grown up to be the moral people they are, and had a somewhat "darker" character ?
1. the players

Final Fantasy 8, its characters, the story are all copyright to Squaresoft. The author does not wish to infringe on copyrights, or seek to gain profit from the use of the characters. This is a work is a work of fiction.  
  
----  
  
As the sun begins its descent, darkness starts to set in. There is the darkness of the skies, a pitch black that enshrouds everyone and everything. Then there is the darkness of people; the individuals who have the same darkness in the sky as in their hearts come out at night to play. Tonight was no different from the other nights, darkness roamed everywhere.  
  
A tall man in a long brown coat glanced up at the sign. "Club Balamb", it read. "Leave it to him to think of such boring name." he thought to himself, exasperated and amused. He knocked at the door and the slit opened; "Yeah I'm here to see him" he told the faceless pair of emerald green eyes. The slit was closed and the door was opened. Walking in, he saw that the owner of the eyes was Selphie.  
  
"Hey darlin', how are ya?" He grinned at her, tipping his hat. She was one of the Commander's chief runners. At first, she appeared to be an innocent teenage girl, almost glowing with an aura of happiness. But had seen her work, and Selphie Tilmitt of the SeeDs was not someone to be taken lightly. Then again, none of them were as innocent as they appeared.  
  
"Not to bad Irvy, the Commander's been waiting for you" She replied, beaming. She, like him was one of the children, an inner member of SeeD. Although they had knocked boots a few times over the years, she remained almost like a sister to him, much like the rest of their surrogate family.  
  
The sound of jazz group from the dance floor brought his eyes up, and he glanced to the side of it. A handsome dark haired man stared listlessly at the couples on the dance floor, nursing an undoubtedly strong alcoholic drink. He made his way over to the man, stopping at his table.  
  
The man was a living legend. Mystery surrounded his origins; the Galbadians would have the rest of the underworld believe that he was the bastard child of some unholy union between a prostitute and her john. The commander was actually an orphan, brought to the Matron's doorstep at a very young age. All of the inner SeeDs were abandoned children, which was why they stuck together, no one else would help them, and now they helped themselves to whatever and whomever they wish.  
  
Squall Leonhart, Seifer Almasy, Irvine Kinneas, Quistis Trepe, Zell Dincht and Selphie Tilmitt, were all considered the waste products of inner city problems. They had been treated as such all their life. Matron had tried to shield them, to help them get out of their dead end world, but there is no point in prolonging the inevitable. Cid, her husband, stepped in and made sure that although they may never escape, no one would ever look upon them without cowering in fear.  
  
"Commander, it's done."  
  
Squall looked up at the speaker. "Irvine" his mind prompted, one of his best. His face shifted from repose into a small, cold smile.  
  
"Well done, please, have a seat." He replied to the man and gestured to the seat next to him. Irvine sat down, and a waiter approached the two.  
  
"What will it be mister?" Irvine glanced up at the voice, and saw that it was Zell, yet another inner member of SeeD.  
  
"Hey buddy, did you break something again? Why the fuck are you pushing drinks? Decided to get out of the hitman business to become a career busboy? " Irvine laughed at the waiter.  
  
Zell stared at his fellow SeeD angrily, before storming off without waiting for an order. "I suppose it'll just be a cup of lukewarm piss then!" he angrily yelled. "It'll be coming right up."  
  
The Commander chucked, and looked at Irvine. "You know he has a temper problem. He ran up some debts at one of the local bars, and I had to bail him out before someone got to him. So he's just working off his dues."  
  
Irvine shook his head in disbelief. "Commander, if you have to bail him out yourself, he should be cleaning the toilets with his tongue." He replied seriously.  
  
Staring back into the depths of his drink, he shrugged. "Whatever."  
  
It seems strange that this man would be so lax about the punishment for Zell's slip. Squall Leonhart doesn't bail just anyone out of trouble. He may have been a moral man once, but the deep darkness that abounded in the city must have seeped into his heart as well. Killing was a thing of naught for the famed Commander of the SeeDs. Anyone who crossed his path would feel the tip of his legendary Lionhart, an exotic weapon that incorporated both a sword and a gun for greater destructive power. Squall Leonhart did not lower himself to petty squabbles over a tab, but Zell was an inner SeeD, and no one could touch an inner SeeD without feeling the cold blade of the Commander's weapon.  
  
Irvine mentally shrugged as well, and leaned back into his chair. The ambient jazz had stopped, and he turned and stared at the stage. "She'll probably be here." He thought to himself. He had always liked her, but she seemed so cold. The world had been crueler to her then to any of them, and he was afraid of approaching her and possibly hurting her again.  
  
The spotlight that shone on the stage remained unoccupied. A woman stepped out from behind the curtains and stepped in, unaffected by the light and suddenly becoming the focal point of the club. She stared fearlessly back into the audience and smiled. It was a false smile, to Irvine at least. Her smile would never reach her eyes, but at least the rest of the club was convinced that it was sincere and they applauded wildly before she begun. Of course, it was also because like the rest of the SeeDs, they had become legends in their own right, their actions spawning myths and tales that good little boys were told when invited to join the darker, shadier side of society.  
  
Quistis Trepe was a beautiful woman; not even a blind man would question or doubt that fact. Tall, blonde, and fine boned, she gave off an air of majestic, regal beauty that did not belong here. Tonight had not been any different, dressed in a long, form fitting peach coloured cocktail dress, with diamonds dripping off her neck (no doubt the fruits of their less legal activities), she seemed like a misplaced princess which did not belong at all to this shadier sect of society. She was however, one of the most lethal assassins known to Balamb, and the rest of the crime world. Victims never suspected that her favorite weapon was not a sex toy; it would eventually spell their execution.  
  
Adjusting the microphone, she glanced over to Squall and Irvine. Her eyes clouded over with emotion, but quickly returned to their normal, blue coldness. Nodding to the musicians, they began to play.  
  
The SeeDs were among the most notorious gangs that had ever existed. Instead of recruiting any teenager off the street to become a lacky, they only trained children. Raising them to do nothing but to follow orders, be it assassination, robbery or just to play the devil among, SeeD children were inhumanly efficient and excelled at their line of work. There was the moral dilemma of whether it was really ethically sound to do such a thing, to hardwire into a child's mentality to be an assassin, but it was a cruel, cruel world, it was either kill or be killed. At least SeeD had offered an alternative to becoming another nameless, faceless casualty, the resulting collateral damage of street life.  
  
Slumping back into the chair, Irvine inclined his head so it was slightly tilted towards the stage, watching the beautiful songstress at work. The slow melody lent an air of sexuality to Quistis, further enhancing her appeal. A decrescendo so the band was playing at a pianissimo level signaled the beginning of her singing.  
  
Jezebel wasn't born with a silver spoon in her mouth  
  
She probably had less than every one of us  
  
But when she knew how to walk she knew  
  
how to bring the house down  
  
Can't blame her for her beauty  
  
She wins with her hands down  
  
Smooth as silk, sweet as honey, the strong contralto voice spoke to everyone in the room, not only spoke but took the attention from all conversation and focused it on the young woman at the stage. She was the focal point of that moment, channeling musical beauty into the minds and hearts of everyone inside the club.  
  
Jezebel, what a belle  
  
Looks like a princess in her new dress  
  
How did you get that?  
  
Do you really want to know she said  
  
It would seem she's on her way  
  
It's more, more than just a dream  
  
She put on her stockings and shoes  
  
had nothing to lose - she said it was worth it  
  
In their childhood, many an enchanted hour had been spent gathered together, singing out of happiness, out of sadness, out of poverty. Even as a child, Quistis had always had a strong and clear singing voice, Matron had wished for her to attend a music school, but there was barely enough money to keep all the children off the streets, so that dream never was realized. Irvine wondered how accomplished and famous Quistis would be now if she had made her name through her voice, and not through the violence that all their names had become stigmatized with.  
  
Reach for the top  
  
and the sun is gonna shine  
  
Every winter was a war she said  
  
I want to get what's mine  
  
Glancing at the Commander, Irvine saw that he too was engrossed in the music. All of them had hard lives, Squall's was no different. However, instead of expressing his emotion, he had at a very young age bottled them inside, and all that showed on the outside was the calm, cool demeanor of a professional murderer. A small smile had crept up on his lips, it was a rare sight, and if Squall himself knew that he was revealing his emotions, he would have burnt with fury. Irvine smiled himself, and locked away the moment in his memory, and made a mental note to share it with Quistis afterwards.  
  
The music slowly tapered off into nothingness, with the applause of the audience replacing it. One young man, obviously quite taken with Ms. Trepe, had leapt onto the stage to present her with a bouquet of red roses. Laughing, Quistis had rewarded him with a peck on the cheek, causing the young man to blush furiously until his face matched the shade of the roses. Stepping off the stage, Quistis slowly made her way over to Irvine and Squall.  
  
AN; I actually wrote this quite a while ago.. but I've never gotten around to writing enough so that it was fit to be posted as a first chapter. I decided to write a bit more, and well, if people want to read it, then I'd be glad to write more. (: By the way, this is my first attempt at a chaptered fic, gotta test the waters sometime.. ! 


	2. the stage is set

There are some that are born into class, and some who are born with class. Quisitis Trepe was obviously included in the latter. There was always something that set her apart from other girls, even those who weren't all bottle blond hair and grossly exaggerated makeup. She had a certain way of holding herself, a certain way of walking, of speaking which was all Quistis and all feminine elegance. It drew men to her, becoming victims of their baser needs.  
  
Walking, almost gliding in her fluid way, Quistis placed the bouquet down on an empty spot at the table. In a move that surprised Irvine and Squall, she warmly embraced Irvine.  
  
"Welcome back." She whispered softly, only loud enough to be heard by this receiver of this uncharacteristic gesture.  
  
Momentarily stunned, Irvine returned the embrace and stood up to offer Quistis his seat. She gave him a grateful smile, and pleased with her show of gratitude, he went to fetch another chair for himself.  
  
In yet another moment of uncharacteristic behaviour, inspired by Quistis, Squall felt the need to blurt, and blurted out for the first time in a long time. "How come I don't get a hug?"  
  
Bemused, Quistis cocked her head to one side, and addressed Squall. "Well, I know that you'll always come back alive. And you'd never offer me your chair."  
  
He clucked softly. "I don't know if I should take that as a complement or an insult." Quistis smiled and reached over to gently squeeze Squall's hand. At this point, Irvine had brought another chair to the table and noticed that Squall returned this reassuring gesture. "It seems like our fearless, emotionless leader may have fallen under our resident enchantress' spell as well." Irvine thought silently reflecting on the scene before him. "Badinage was hardly Squall's strong point."  
  
Sitting down, Irvine faced Squall. His demeanor had changed completely at this point since now, they needed to talk about business. "I should tell Zell and Selphie this at the same time," he began, "but I think we need to take action first before the news is broken to them, especially to Zell." He paused and reached for his drink, but was stopped by Quistis' slender hand.  
  
"Don't."  
  
Irvine was a little confused at this exchange. Although they may have been barely of drinking age, not a single one of his closest friends could not hold their liquor. He had obviously missed something interesting in the time that he had spent away.  
  
Sighing, and drinkless, Squall continued. "SeeD has never meant to become so large as to become a syndicate. But apparently, our reputation precedes us, and it looks like the Galbadians have decided to test us. It's looking like a gang war right now, and the gauntlet has definitely been thrown down."  
  
"What do you mean?" Quistis inquired.  
  
"Seifer was out collecting some of our larger debts yesterday." Upon hearing this, Irvine recalled how persuasive the man was, he apparently feared nothing, not even cutting open an enemy to draw out their entrails while keeping them alive the whole time. He shuddered unconsciously at the memory. "Killing was pretty much a job requirement, but there's no real need to be messy about it." Irvine thought.  
  
Unaware of the mental imagery swirling through Irvine's mind, Squall did not pause. "One of our debtors had gone to the Galbadians. He was ambushed."  
  
Quistis gasped softly, and Irvine narrowed his eyes upon hearing this. "Is he alive?" they asked, simultaneously.  
  
"Remarkably, yes. Dumb luck I suppose. He always refuses to bring others with him unless it's absolutely necessary. It was a small welcome party, about ten younger kids, and a few more that were older and knew what they were doing."  
  
It was hardly luck that he managed to escape with his life. Seifer Almasy of the inner SeeDs was truly a force to be reckoned with. Like his greatest rival Squall, he was also an expert gunblade user and his skills had established him as a highly successful member of the underworld.  
  
"Where is he now? How badly hurt is he?" concern and worry obvious in Quistis' voice.  
  
"He's at Fujin's apartment right now. But we should probably move him soon. He was cut up pretty badly and has a few broken ribs, it's nothing to worry about."  
  
Irvine let out a sigh of relief. "Phew, Seifer still has to replace a very expensive bottle of Don Perignon that he thoughtfully stole from me." He paused for a moment, trying to let the reality of one of his closest friends almost becoming a casualty of their profession sink in. "So Squall, I suppose you want Quistis and I to go stir up a little trouble then?"  
  
He nodded. "That would be the idea. Nothing to big or fancy, just a quick 'hello' gesture."  
  
"Consider it done then. We'll do the mission outlines tomorrow morning at the usual place." Quistis cut in, replying for both her and Irvine. "And now, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I suppose I should pay our injured but not fallen compatriot a little visit." She rose, and picked up her bouquet.  
  
As she turned towards the dressing room, Irvine called after her. "Quistis, next time I'll be the one bringing you flowers."  
  
"Don't bother. Spend your gil on something more useful. Like a new hat." She laughed.  
  
Irvine put a hand on his Stetson. The "cowboy" look had come and gone, and came and gone again, but there was nothing wrong with appreciating a good Stetson.  
  
"Hey Squall, do you like my hat?"  
  
AN - total OOCness.. but I think I have to kind of mold the characters to fit with the story. Sorry! : ) This Irvine isn't sauve at all, apparently he's a dork.. hehe ! Many apolly-loggies for the skimpiness of this chapter, as it's just a setting of the stage, or "putting the pawns in motion". Thanks to all of you great authors out there that just keep on drawing me back to this site.  
  
A special thanks to gietzeng, for his lovely complements. (:  
  
And.. there'll be action, soon ! So stay tuned, same bat time, same bat channel ! (Merry Christmas too !) 


End file.
